The little boy came running into the room, coat tails flapping.
“Quick!” he cried, “hide me! They’re after me!”
Olive put down her embroidery.
“Who is after you?”
“Them!” the little boy wailed ungrammatically as he wiggled his way under the sofa. “The chief mages!”
“Watch out for the cookabon—“ Olive broke off as a loud yelp came from under the sofa. The chief mages, huh? If they were after that boy, that might explain the proliferation of such creatures as the cookabonna dragon under the sofa. They never could figure out how much of an effect their promiscuous spellcasting had on the whole community. Or perhaps they just didn’t care.
Olive hung her head upside down in front of the sofa.
“Tell the cookabonna there’ll be some biscuits available presently,” she said to the vague shapes scuffling around beneath. “And don’t worry about the mages. They know better than to come in here.”